


Inclinations

by uschickens



Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uschickens/pseuds/uschickens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Lance and JC got stuck in an elevator in Las Vegas during Christmas?</p><p>A <a href="http://www.juppy.org/santa">Don We Now Our Gay Apparel 2004</a> story.<br/>For Shirasade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inclinations

A dull thudding reached JC’s ears, matching the pounding behind his eyes. He _knew_ he shouldn’t have had that last Mai Tai. "Dude, stop it," he said without opening his eyes. "You’re going to bruise something."

Lance ignored him magnificently and continued to bang his head against the wall of the elevator. "We’re being punished. There’s no other answer," he intoned mournfully. "'It's just one Christmas,' I said. 'It's just two days.' 'I'll spend the next two weeks with my family.' 'It's for a really good cause.' Tell me why I listen to me again?"

"I dunno. I don't," JC said. "Listen to you, that is." He didn't need to open his eyes to know that Lance was glaring at him.

"Then why are you here?"

JC was just glad Lance'd stopped banging his head. He'd left drunk behind about half an hour before and was headed straight into hung over, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. He wondered if two hundred dollars would stave off the hangover. He thought he had two hundred bucks in his pocket. If not, maybe Lance would let him borrow. Lance always had cash on him. Oh. Lance. Waiting for an answer. "I owe Becky a favor from way back. My luck she wanted collect now." He kind of hoped Lance would ask about the favor. Embarrassing, but better than the head-thudding.

"Now," Lance moaned. "Christmas Day. In Vegas. I'm spending Christmas in Vegas. And God hates me now." He went back to the head-thudding.

JC would've been a lot more concerned at Lance's distress if he hadn't already heard pretty much the same doleful tirade only an hour previously, when the elevator had first gotten stuck. He cracked an eyelid. "Now you're just being dramatic," he said. "Leave that to Joey. He does it better."

Lance gave him a tiny, wry grin. "There's the JC I know and love."

JC tried not to be thrilled by that. He'd thought he'd be able to ride this little, er, fixation out on tour, vibrating between wired and exhausted, letting it get lost in music and performing. He'd talk to Lance on the phone at least once a week like clockwork, and they'd see each other once or twice a month at events, maybe, and he would be very mature about the whole thing. He'd even been glad to hear that Lance was going to be stuck at this charity thing at the Luxor with him. On Christmas freaking Day, no less. He'd figured they could entertain each other until it was time to retreat to their rooms on opposite sides of the pyramid from each other. He hadn't planned on getting stuck in an elevator with him.

"Think of it this way," JC offered after a long moment blessedly free of thumping. "At least we're not stuck in the Excalibur. That's where Becky originally wanted to hold this thing."

"Why? At least their elevators aren't slanted. Oh, excuse me, _inclinators_." Lance dragged out the i and bathed it in sarcasm.

"Yeah, but then we'd be stuck listening to fake medieval elevator music. Here we just have noodly, fake Egyptian inclinator music."

"Still wouldn't be as bad as that week on the bus in '99." Lance shuddered delicately.

"The Starland Vocal Band week?" Lance nodded. "I'm still not sure I've forgiven Chris for that." They sat in relative silence again, until JC shouted at the speakers, "The ancient Egyptians didn't have electric keyboards! Stop!" Lance's low giggle made his heart feel funny, so he tried not to look directly at him.

***

"I spy...something white."

"First floor button."

"No."

"Second floor button."

"Nope."

"Third floor button."

"No way."

"Are you going to make me go through all of them?"

"Guess."

***

"Twenty-first floor button."

"Nuh-uh."

"Twenty-second floor button."

"No."

"If it's the penthouse button, you are a dead man. Top of the pyramid. Whatever. Still dead."

"Still your turn."

***

"You ass!" JC felt perfectly justified in his attempts to noogie Lance into submission. He was not copping a feel. He was asserting his position. "I totally said ground floor button!"

"No, you didn't," Lance said, slightly muffled. "You said first floor. I picked the lobby button." He did something entirely sneaky, and then JC was on his back, staring up at Lance's entirely smug face. "You know, the one with the little L on it?"

"Technical bastard," JC muttered, breathless. "Just because it doesn't have a one on it doesn't mean it's not the first floor." He heaved once, tumbling Lance to the side, and threw himself after him.

***

"I'm beginning to hate elevator lady," JC said idly, blissful and boneless as Lance combed his fingers through his hair. They had started out on opposite side of the elevator, but old habit brought on by too many hours spent in small, enclosed spaces had taken over, and they were indulging in the traditional post-wrestle snuggle. Lance was sprawled in one corner, and JC had promptly put his head in Lance's lap.

"I think her name is Jamie. And shouldn't it be inclinator lady?"

JC flapped one hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. Today she speaks to us through the little call box, so she is elevator lady, and I will hate her until those doors open. How long's it been?" He twisted to see Lance's watch.

"Three hours and twenty-seven minutes. Ish."

"And time?"

"A little after one. Happy Boxing Day."

"And the elevator repair guys?"

"Don't look at me. I'm just the guy with the watch." Lance tapped JC's bare wrist. JC moved his hand back to JC's head.

"Less tapping. More petting."

Lance complied and tilted his head back against the wall. "I'm disappointed. This is _Las Vegas_. You'd think there'd be at least one elevator repair guy working nearby, even on Christmas at one o' clock in the morning."

"Boxing Day."

"Whatever. I'm filling out the comment card when I get back to my room."

It felt good to laugh pressed up against Lance again.

***

JC stretched impossibly higher. "Anything?"

Lance squinted. "I think maybe there might be one bar – wait, no." He shook his head. "It still says Out of Service Area."

JC sank back down and whacked his cell phone several times, just for good measure. "You'd think they'd have service even in the elevators here. How else are people supposed to extend their credit lines on the way to the casino floor? Maybe I could sit on your shoulders." He brooded but perked up at a new thought. "Hey, wait. Techno boy. Don't you have, like, SuperPhone? With GPS and tri-band service and remote controls and expanded coverage?"

"Yeah, but. I, uh." Lance was blushing, and JC was hard pressed not to lick the faint line of pink that crept beneath the collar of his distractingly unbuttoned shirt. "My battery is out of charge."

I'll charge your battery, big boy, JC thought, then considered death by mortification for even letting that phrase cross his brain. He comforted himself with the thought that he hadn't said it out loud. But I would, the little part of his brain that never shut up said sulkily.

***

"Chasez, if you don't quit harmonizing with the noodly fake Egyptian inclinator music right now, I will be forced to beat you down."

JC just grinned and listened to his voice bounce off the close walls. At least until Lance tackled him.

***

They were lying on the floor with their feet propped high up on the wall, having exhausted the conversational possibilities of sporks versus foons (JC was pro-foon, whereas Lance supported the more traditional and, in JC's eyes, less practical spork), when JC said, "This reminds me of that thing you had me sit in Houston." He immediately winced. Space wasn't an openly forbidden topic of discussion, but it was always approached on light feet, looking forward and with confidence. Never looking back. Never reminiscing. Never doubting. Never when anyone ran the risk of getting maudlin. Never in the dark hours of the morning, stuck in a small space after drinking all evening.

"The launch simulator," Lance said, his voice soft with sudden memories. "I was – " he stopped.

JC fisted his hands on the floor to keep from reaching for Lance and clutching him to his chest. "I," he started. He wanted to say something, say the right thing, say the best possible thing. He wanted to make Lance feel better, make him smile, make his hard work pay off. He wanted to buy a rocket just for him. He wanted to make secret phone calls and make certain Russian and American financial backers 'disappear.' He wanted to do something, anything. He said nothing, hating himself a little.

"It's just," Lance started again. "I, oh, JC." He had to stop to clear his throat. "I really, really want to go. Present tense," he added fiercely.

JC did reach out then and took Lance's hand. "I know you do, baby. I know you do." They lay in silence. Lance closed his eyes. JC continued his search for the tastefully hidden light source in the ceiling. Neither let go of the other's hand.

***

"I suppose this isn't a good time to mention that I really, really have to pee?"

"Dammit. I was okay when I wasn't thinking about it. I hate you."

***

"Have you talked to Justin this week?" Lance was playing with JC's hands, curled around behind him.

JC was trying not to notice the warm press of Lance's body against his. Or the faint remnants of his cologne. Or the line of his forearm underneath his unbuttoned cuffs. Or his sleek ankles. Or his tanned bare feet. JC groaned silently. He _knew_ getting stuck in an elevator with Lance wasn't going to help things. He dragged his brain back to the conversational track before him, glad Lance was used to his mental tangential interludes. "Yeah, I talked to him right after he got in. Dawg sounds tired. Can't believe he's headed back over in ten days."

"Did you hear what Chris sent him?" Lance was grinning.

JC started with laughter, dislodging Lance. He reached back to resettle him, and this time Lance looped his arms around JC's waist to secure himself. Laughter scampered off, leaving JC reconsidering his earlier dismissal of Lance's mournful claim of divine retribution for being in Vegas on Christmas. Clearly, he was being punished. Had they always touched this much? Trying not to sigh too obviously, he said, "Yeah. I was there when he picked it out. You should've seen the look on the shop lady's face when he asked for matching stiletto heels in a ladies' size thirteen."

"Yeah, well, I can't wait to see Chris's face at New Year's when J shows up in it." Lance snickers. "I talked to him this afternoon right after he opened it."

"You snuck out to make phone calls? Ooooh." JC waggled his eyebrows. "It's all good, though. Don't tell anyone, even Joey – " he fixed Lance with a stern finger – "but Chris will be wearing a matching one in sea foam green."

***

"Wow. You're right. The noodly fake Egyptian harmony does sound better with a bass line mixed in." Lance looked impressed, then horrified. "No. No, JC. I know that look. Stop that. Do not write a noodly fake Egyptian pop song in five part harmony. I will leave the group and never speak to you again. I swear."

***

"Dude. I can't believe we didn't think of this earlier," JC said with a frown of concentration. "Do you have anything wider than a Visa for a base?" He set his Blockbuster card ever so delicately on top of a precarious tower of credit cards, key cards, membership cards, business cards, and an embarrassing collection of Starbucks bonus cards.

Lance pawed through his wallet. "What about my driver's license?" He passed it over, then paused in his searching. He grinned faintly at a picture in his hand. "Did I ever show you-"

"Yes, Lance," JC cut him off fondly. "Six pictures of Leighton so far, and, yes, she's tied for Cutest Baby in the World with Briahna in Joey's presence, possibly edging her out outside of Joey's presence, but only because Briahna's walking now and not really a baby."

Lance flipped him off with love. "No, dipwad. Well, yes, my niece _is_ incredibly adorable, but no to the picture. Look." He passed JC the picture.

JC ran soft fingers over their young faces. So much younger. "Good times, man."

"Well, not really. That was the week we had three shows a day for five days, and the hot water only worked in two of the bathrooms, and Justin's voice was breaking constantly, and Chris was a bitch because he hadn't gotten laid in, like, a month, and Joey's shoes were-" Lance ticked each thing off on a finger until JC poked him. "Well, yeah. Good times. Wouldn't trade them for anything." He met JC's eyes and answered the question that JC fought to keep from showing in his eyes but couldn't help thinking. "Not anything."

JC let out a breath that he'd been holding since Freddy had called him from Russia, when he'd heard Lance hitching in breaths in the background saying, "No, let me do it. I'll tell them. But later. I'll do it later." He grabbed Lance's hand again. It'd worked well enough before to say what he didn't know how to. Lance tightened his fingers through JC's.

The card tower was crushed when Lance surged across the elevator car to press fever-hot lips against JC's, so hot, but only for a moment. JC reached out to grab him and keep him close, but he was already back on his side of the elevator. JC clutched at Lance's hand that he still had clasped in his own, trying to process what just happened. "You kissed me," he tried to clarify.

Lance was blushing again, all the way underneath his collar. "Yeah. It's just, well. It's Christmas, and it's four o' clock in the morning, and we've been stuck in elevator for over five hours, and they can't find a repair guy in all of Las fuckin' Vegas, and my family's on the other side of the country, and I'm not supposed to be here, and all I can think of is how glad I am that you're here with me. They say you're supposed to spend Christmas with the ones you love, so I figure this year isn't a total write-off." He raised his hesitant eyes to meet JC's, the desire for flight written in every line of his body.

"Don't go," JC said immediately and clung harder to Lance's hand. "It's, I mean, elevator, yes, but you just, and I thought, but. You kissed me." He said it with more confidence this time, like he was starting to believe it. He brought their linked hands up and poked Lance in the chest. "You." He brought their hands to his chest. "Kissed me." Lance gave a tiny, tiny grin. "Yeah?"

JC's full-blown grin splattered across his face. "Oh, yeah." He yanked on their hands, pulling Lance onto his lap and further obliterating their card tower. He kissed him, still hot, but for much, much longer. When he pulled back to breathe, he licked his lips and rested his forehead against Lance's. "I have a confession to make," he said, dusting kisses over each of Lance's cheeks, feeling Lance's eyelashes flutter closed against his face. "I've got a little crush I've been trying to get over." Lance's eyes snapped open, but the hand that JC had wormed up his back underneath his shirt prevented him from pulling up. "I'm thinking now I won't have to?" He brushed an openmouthed kiss over Lance's lips, and when Lance opened in welcome, toungefucked his mouth with slow, brutal intent. Lance melted like butter under the sun under him. JC grinned ferally. Lance licked his lips.

***

"What? Why'd you stop?" Lance panted, propping himself up on his elbows, only to see JC helpless with giggles in between his legs. "Is something wrong?"

"It's just," JC wheezed with laughter. "Did you notice? I'm living it up." Lance waited patiently. JC gathered himself together and schooled his face appropriately. He was a professional, after all. He grinned at Lance and sang, "Love in an elevator/Living it up while I'm going doooooown."

JC discovered it was even better to laugh pressed up against Lance when they were both naked.

Later, when they were both technically re-clothed and kissing languidly, the first craze of passion spent, hateful Elevator Lady informed them that the elevator repair guy was in the building and they should be out in less than fifteen minutes and Mandalay Hotel Enterprises was so terribly, terribly sorry and of course their stay was going to be comped and was there anything else they could get for them? JC's tongue was still learning the curve of Lance's ear, so it was left to Lance to say, "Just get us out. Oh, and the security tape for tonight." His grin at the ceiling was all tooth.

"Bright boy," JC muttered, letting his hands wander in admiration.

"Well, I'm not going to let this get ruined before it gets off," he paused to gasp in appreciation of JC's wanderings. "Off the ground, I meant. Gets off the ground." He ran lazy, sated hands under JC's hastily reassembled clothes. "It's our Boxing Day miracle, and I intend to keep it ours."

JC laughed and kissed Lance again. And again, just because he could. Then once more for good measure. It made his heart feel funny, but that was okay now. "I've got to say it, then, don't I?" Lance's grin made him want to fly. Pressing Lance's hand over his heart, he intoned solemnly, "God bless us, every one!"


End file.
